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WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A DREAM VACATION BECOMES A NIGHTMARE?

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PART 1,  part 2 will be posted next Wednesday, March 24th, 2021

The Mile HIgh Swinging Bridge - NC

The Mile HIgh Swinging Bridge – NC

Life has been particularly difficult and stressful in the last year. I’m completely swamped at work. My boss keeps assigning more and more work for me to complete in an already impossibly overcrowded schedule in my working twelve-hour days. And then I go home with two to three more hours of work to do. And forget about weekends, they ceased to have any meaning a long time ago.

I would have gone completely off the deep end except for the light at the end of the tunnel. I have a vacation coming up in one week, seven more days. And the best news of all is that I got a terrific deal on both the hotel and air costs.

Each day of the last week before my vacation I check off my calendar. And finally, tomorrow is the day I leave for my vacation. I’m so excited that my heart is beating faster because of the adrenalin rush. I went to bed early the night tonight before my trip but I can’t fall asleep I’m so excited. I packed my bags a week ago. I check and rechecked them to make sure I didn’t forget anything.

Mile-high swinging bridge- Grandfather Mountain

I arrive at the airport three hours early for my check-in. It’s a long wait for my plane to arrive for take-off. I drink so much coffee I have trouble sitting still. By the time the plane lands and was getting refueled and checked out, I was so high on caffeine I could probably fly without the plane by flapping my arms up and down,

It’s less than a two-hour flight. I’m jazzed when we arrive. I rented a car in advance and once we deplane, I pick up the keys. And I’m on my way to the Crepe Myrtle Lodge. It’s located outside the Boone, NC area in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The Blue Ridge Mountains are breathtakingly beautiful, the air is cool and invigorating. I can feel my mind and body start to relax. It takes me about three hours to drive to the hotel. I feel like a new man by the time I arrive there.

As I pull into the hotel parking lot, I realize that there aren’t any cars in sight. Oh well, I think everyone is probably up and about hiking and enjoying the beautiful landscape. The hotel advertises that the area has tons of activities like trout fishing, horseback riding, golf, and whitewater rafting. And it’s within minutes’ drive to Grandfather Mountain, Blowing Rock, and Caverns. And of course, the biggest draw, the lowest hotel rates in the area.

I rented a small studio since it was just me and I plan on spending most of my time hiking, and fishing, and investigating as much of the area I could in one week’s time. I get out of my compact car and walk towards a sign that says OFFICE. I yank on the door and find to my dismay that the door is locked. “Well, that’s weird,” I say out loud. I decide I’ll walk around the buildings and see if I can find the manager in one of the rooms or cabins.

No luck, I can see that some of the rooms or cabins are occupied because their curtains are closed. But, many of the rooms and small cabins aren’t occupied at all. And that’s strange because this is the time of the year when people come to this area in droves.

I can’t help but notice that the whole place is in disrepair. I have to say it a mess, trash on the grounds and spilling out of the trash bins. Some of the curtains on the hotel rooms are missing curtains or the curtains are hanging askew. There are cigarette butts everywhere. The more I look around the more anxious I become. I walk back over to the Office and yank on the doorknob, it’s still locked. I walk over to my car and prepare to wait for someone to show up. So I can check-in, unpack and unwind from my long ride and flight.

Two hours later I see a pick-up truck pulling into the parking spot in front of the Office. “Finally,’ I say out loud. I give him a minute or two to get into the office, turn on the lights. And then I walk over and yank on the door, and nearly dislocate my shoulder I pull it so hard. Unbelievably, the door is still locked. I yell out an expletive and start banging on the door when I realize no one is sitting at the desk. I keep banging until I see a middle-aged guy wearing a faded flannel shirt and beat-up jeans hanging in tatters coming to the door.

He looks at me through the window of the door. I try yelling, “My name is Joe Wadsworth. I have a reservation. He glares out at me, and finally opens the door. “What’s the problem, hold your horses already?”

“I have been waiting in my car for two hours to check-in. I confirmed my reservation and arrival time yesterday. I’m tired, I had a two-hour flight and drove three hours to get here.”

“There was a problem at one of the cabins, it was an emergency.”

“You have my cell phone number why didn’t you text me and let me know you weren’t going to be here?”

“As I said, it was an emergency. I didn’t have time to do that. Why don’t you calm down and come in and register?”

“Ok, fine, let’s do that. I’d like to take a shower and then get outside and start exploring the area. I don’t want to waste any more time. I’m only here for the week.”

He tosses the room key across the counter. I catch it before it flies off the counter. I stand there thinking, this guy is a complete ass. But I say, “thanks, is the room ready?” Do I need to get towels from you before I go to the room?

“Everything is ready, no problems, call the desk if you need anything.” Then the phone rings and he turns away from me. So, I walk back to my car and drive around looking for the studio. Which was supposed to be a small cabin with a kitchen and dining area and sleeping area. And have a couch and chair and working TV, and a bathroom with a shower.

After driving around in circles for several minutes I finally find my “studio.” I back my car up and park and start taking out my suitcase and fishing equipment and my hiking equipment, and jacket and my camera equipment. I grab my camera and take a picture of the studio. I’m dreading going in there because I just know that it will probably be disgustingly dirty.

It turns out that disgustingly dirty would be a step up from this dump. I unlock the door I realize that one of the door hinges is missing and the door is only attached by the bottom hinge. So, I quickly shove my suitcase up against the door so it doesn’t become detached altogether and fall on me. I pick up my gear and bring it into the studio.

And that is when the stench hit me full-force. It smells if a giant ashtray has been dumped multiple times in the space. I mean it absolutely reeks. I go over to the front wall to open the windows. As I pull the dingy curtains aside, I realize there are only about three curtain hooks holding it up. I try to carefully push it to the side and I realize there’s a huge hole in the curtain from what looks like a burn of some kind. As if someone put a cigarette to the curtain and burned it intentionally. I’m flabbergasted.

Only half of the glass panes in the windows have glass in them. And the ones that do have glass are cracked. Well, I say to myself at least I can air the room out. I look around the room and low and behold I see the kitchen area. I walk over there trying to keep my eyes straight ahead. I can’t take everything in at once or I will probably have a mental meltdown.

The kitchen area consists of a counter complete with cigarette burns and a dirty electric coffee pot. And one cracked coffee cup with a cigarette butt floating in the bottom in whatever liquid used to reside in the cup. I sniff it and if my nose is telling me the truth it’s piss.

There is a plate, a glass, and a set of plastic knives, and forks and spoons available, pre-used. I see a hot plate, I plug it in, the rings start getting how and then smoke appears. I unplug it. Then I see the “refrigerator.” I open it up. It isn’t cold and only big enough to put a hamburger and a coke in there. That is if it were working. Which it’s not.

There is a small table and chair. The chair only has three legs. So that should be challenging to sit on. I’m somewhat reluctant to look into the bathroom. I push forward because I have never been afraid to face anything. But even I must admit there’s a limit to the horror that I can take in one day.

There is a standing shower. It looks like a coffin standing on end. Its shower curtain is only wide enough to cover one-half of the entrance of the shower. And it has a tear running across the middle horizontally. There are no words to describe the condition of the bottom of the shower. It would be best if I describe it as beyond filthy and it smells like someone recently took a dump in it and vomited simultaneously. I’m serious.

I step backward out of the shower coffin area and back towards the open space to look at the sleeping area. I bravely move forward. I have to admit this has now become morbid curiosity at this point. I can not imagine worse than I have already witnessed.

The bed is actually a folding cot circa WWII. I kid you not. I know because when I was a kid my great grandfather passed away. And my grandfather took me to his father’s house to help clean it out and possibly take away a souvenir if I found something I liked. My grandfather was something of a collector of sorts. Other people might call him a hoarder.

Suffice it to say that my grandfather never threw anything out. And while I was rooting through his attic, I found his folding cot from WWII. And the cot I was looking in this moment bears a striking resemblance to my grandfather’s. On top of the “bed” is a pillow so flat it no longer fits the description of pillow. And there’s a blanket that probably was the original blanket from the WWII cot. I let out another expletive. I didn’t have the courage or the fortitude to look any further.

I double-time it to the door and as I was departing, I slam the door so hard that it falls off its’ hinge. I don’t even look back. I march up to the office door and find it’s once again locked. I start hammering on the door with closed fists. I can not recall ever being this angry in my life. I know I’m out of control but feel it’s righteous anger. I also know if I don’t calm down I will either kill the owner or have a heart attack right here at the door of this shitty hotel. I ask myself, “is this where you want to die?” And I say to myself, “it might be worth it.”

After about three minutes the sleazy low-life manager comes to the door. “What do you want now?’

“What do I want? What do I want? I want a clean room with a door with two hinges and intact windows and curtains. And if it’s not too much to ask, a real bed, a clean bathroom with a clean shower and toilet. And a room that doesn’t smell like someone died there after a prolonged illness. Can I get that buddy?”

He gives me a long, long look and say’s, “So, you’re saying you’ re dissatisfied with your accommodations. Is that it?”

I think for a moment that my head might actually explode. I stand there with my mouth hanging open. I take a deep breath and spit out. “Yes, and that is the understatement of a lifetime. I want I different, better room or I want a complete refund for my money and my deposit. Right now, not in five minutes, right now this second.”

It‘s at that moment that I realize this guy is chewing tobacco, as a brown liquid comes oozing out of his food encrusted lips and over his dark brown teeth. I feel my stomach lurch.

“OK, here are the keys to a room with a bathroom with a shower, and tub, single bed, table and chair and TV but we don’t get cable so it has limited channels but no kitchen area.”

“Is it clean? Does it have curtains and intact windows? Does it smell like an ashtray?”

“It was cleaned yesterday, new curtains and all windows intact and it is a non-smoking room. But it will cost you $10.00 more each day.”

My first impulse was to punch him right in his ugly kisser, but I control myself. “OK, if everything is as you described, I’ll take it. If you lied, I will come back here with a bad attitude and kick your ass. Do you understand buddy?”

He works his jaw and another line of tobacco juice escape between his missing teeth. He wipes the back of his left hand across his mouth and swallows. He hands me the key, and says, “it’s on the other side of the building and then he walks away and spits on the floor. I hear him plop in a chair and turn up his TV.

As I leave the office, I contemplate how such a being exists in the world. And then I realize there are thousands, if not millions of bottom feeders such as this guy. I shake my head and look for the room. This whole place is an absolute maze with no rhyme or reason to how the it’s organized. After about ten minutes of walking around the maze of rooms, cabins, and even a few broken down trailers I find it. It’s at the end of a long line of rooms. I consider the horror I might encounter and take a deep, deep breath of fresh air and unlock the door. The door creaks as it opens, but on the plus side it doesn’t fall off the hinges.

I step into the room and to my utter surprise it isn’t the completely filthy pit I expected it too be. It’s not even close to neat and tidy either. I close the door behind me and walk over to the bed. It has a double bed which is miles ahead of a folding cot from WWII. It has two pillows, a sheet and a thin blanket. Someone else probably slept in by last week, but still, I’ll take it over the cot. I take a sniff of the air and the sheets, not too terrible.

I look under the bed, just dust. I walk across the room and open the bathroom door. There’s a shower and tub with a sliding glass door. I open the door, not clean but not filthy, no roaches running around in there. The toilet wasn’t flushed last couple of times it was used, so I close the lid and flush it.

The next time I go out I decide I’ll buy some clean sheets and some towels since the bathroom has no towels, soap and some room deodorizer and cleanser. It’s not the room I thought I would stay in for my one and only vacation this year. But I hope I ‘ll be spending most of my time in the great outdoors and not in this stinking want-a-be Bates Motel.

I head out to the car to get some supplies and something to eat. But first I change into my hiking boots and clothes. I should have broken the boots in before I got here. But I didn’t. I put on an extra pair of socks to protect my feet. I bring along an extra jacket just in case it’s colder than predicted.

Against my better judgement I go back to the hotel office to see if they have any pamphlets or handouts of any kind for local places to eat. Of course. When I get to office the door was locked again. I get back in my car and turn on my cellphone and ask google maps for local restaurants.

I end up buying lunch at a local take-out for Chinese food. It isn’t half bad. So, I tell the guy at the counter I’ll be back around 6PM to pick up dinner. He’s pleasant enough. They also have some pamphlets on a rack with local sites and activities which I appreciate. I should have planned what I was going to do at home before I got here. But I didn’t, that’s on me. I tend to be somewhat of a procrastinator that’s how I ended up at the hotel. I wait too long to make reservations and they were the only ones to have any openings. And now I know why. Live and learn, I guess. I stop at a nearby Dollar Store and buy my supplies plus a few snacks and a paperback novel to read since I just realized there wasn’t any TV in the room. Oh boy, that’s a real shocker. Yeah, right. And then I’m on my way.

I take the Blue Ridge Parkway to Grandfather Mountain. And I have to admit that this is some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen and I have traveled a lot over the years. Grandfather Mountain is my destination today because it’s only about ten minutes away. The speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour along the parkway so I have time to take in this magnificent area. I arrive and decide that I will park my car and hike the four-mile train to the top.

I have to admit I’m somewhat out of shape and the air becomes thinner the closer I get to the top. Still, I’m determined to do it. When I arrive, there’s quite a crowd because people took the shuttle up. As I stand there drinking in the view, I realize that I have forgotten my camera equipment. I could just kick myself. I consider hiking down and getting my camera gear and then coming back up. But I realize how tired I am after the plane ride, driving to the hotel and putting up with all the malarkey at the hotel.

I decide to look around the whole area and scope out where I’ll like to take my shots when I return here. Once again realizing how disorganized I am. I’m going to have to work on that. My next stop is the-Mile-High Swinging Bridge. The reason I chose this as one of my destinations is because one of my life-long fears has been bridges. You may be asking yourself the question than why go to the mountains and then cross a mile-high bridge. Well, the fact is I’m trying to overcome some of my fears and anxiety.

When I was a young child perhaps five years old, I was in a car going over The Ben Franklin Bridge from New Jersey to Philadelphia, Pa. I was sitting on my mother’s lap. I guess I was leaning against the door as we drove slowly across the bridge and the door wasn’t locked or closed properly. And then it suddenly flew open and I fell out of the car and onto the bridge. My father slammed the brakes and ran over and picked me up and put me in the back seat. Yelling the whole time at me, telling me how I almost killed myself. And since that day I have been fearful of heights and bridges. So, here I am thirty years later, on my way to cross the Mile-High- Swinging Bridge.

I see all kinds of people walking towards, and across the bridge, young and old. I take a deep, deep breath and start walking ever closer to it. And then I see the bridge is right in front of me. I walk onto the bridge. I grab ahold of the railing and I look down, down, down. My head is swimming, I hear ringing in my ears. For an awful moment I’m afraid I just might fall. And then I have a moment when I feel like launching myself off the bridge. My heart is beating like a drum and my pulse is rapid, I can’t catch my breathe. And then the moment passes. I had this feeling before and I know that it is a common experience. I step back and start laughing for a moment. I notice several people are staring at me. And inexplicably I say,” Don’t worry I’m not going to kill myself.” And then I laugh again. All but one of the people laugh uncomfortably and walk away from me. One woman says,” are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to freighted anyone. It was just a weird impulse. I’m working on overcoming my fear of heights.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, thank you I’m fine.” And she goes on her way and when she gets to the other side of the bridge. She looks back at me. She’s gesturing for me to come to the other side. I wave at her and start slowing walking to the other side. I stop in the middle of the bridge and look down. The view’s amazing. And then I continue to the other side and where she’s waiting for me.

“Congratulations you made it. Isn’t it beautiful here?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s stunning.” I smile from ear to ear. She smiles back, and that is when I notice that she’s beautiful with gorgeous red hair. I’ve always been a sucker for redheads. I decide to take a chance and ask her out. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes, and believe it or not this is the first vacation I’ve taken by myself. So, I guess I have something to prove as well. Are you here alone?”

“Yes, I’m sorry what’s your name?”

“My name is Joe Wadsworth. What’s your name?”

My name is Emily Van Patten. So, do you have any plans for dinner, Joe? Because I know of a fabulous restaurant nearby. If you would like to meet-up?” I hope that doesn’t sound too pushy?”

“No, not at all. That’s sounds great. What time would you like to meet?”

“How about around 6:30. It’s a casual place so no need to dress up. Here ‘is my cell phone number if something comes up and here is the address. I’ll see you at 6:30.”

I look at her and smile ear to ear and she smiles back. “Great, I’ll see you then.”

And she goes on her way. I stand at the end of the bridge and look at the beautiful valley below and think, maybe my luck is changing. I start walking forward on my trek. I start walking onward and upward as I admire the bounty of multi-colored Fall leaves. I have to admit Fall is my favorite season, the wonderful foliage, the cool, crisp weather.

And then as I’m contemplating all this beauty, I see something moving across the path or should I say slithering. I’m ashamed to say it, but I have a fear of snakes, I don’t know why since I never really encountered one or bitten. But still, I’m terrified of them. I decide to wait until it leaves the area. I hope it’s not a poisoness ’snake, that’s all I need. It looks like it could be a Copperhead, or possibly be a Corn Snake. Which can look similar if it flattens its head and then resembles a Copperhead. I wait and I wait some more. I can’t help but think maybe I shouldn’t have taken this trip alone. But here I am, and decide I’m going to make the best of it, instead of quitting as I usually do when I get frustrated.

The snake finally moves out of sight. And I continue you down the path. I take a couple of steps forward and then trip on my own shoe lace. It apparently came untied at some point. As I lean down to retire my hiking boot, I feel something latch onto my ankle. I look. And I see to my horror snake has its teeth firmly attached to my ankle and is trying to constrict around my ankle. Momentarily I feel as if I might faint. I try to relax since I read the worse thing you can do with a corn snake is try to pull it off since its teeth latch on and they are slanted backward.

I try to remember what I’m supposed to do. And then I remember you’re supposed to pour something ice cold on it and the snake will release its grip. I grab my backpack and look for my thermos that is filled with ice water. I calmly pour the ice water over the snake. In a few minutes that seem like a week to me the snake releases its grip and unwinds off my ankle and once again slithers away. I lean down and look at my ankle and I see the fang marks and a few drops of blood. I grab my pack and find my first aide supply kit. I disinfect it and slap a band aide on it. I promise myself I will be more aware of my surroundings. Still, I count myself lucky that it wasn’t a copperhead. I keep moving forward.

I keep following the trail for another half-hour. I stop and take a drink from my pack. And take another look all around me. I realize that I feel relaxed and happy, despite the snake bite. I lean down and take a look at my ankle and it’s a little sore, but I think its going to be alright. I was lucky, this time.

 

 

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The Christmas Spirit

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Christmas time is here again. At my age, it seems difficult to summon up the Christmas spirit.

Maple Shade, NJ Christmas 1960’s

But when I was a child, it was a different story. I remember the days leading up to Christmas seemed to go by at a snail’s pace. I would ask my mother every day, “How many more days until Christmas, Mom?

She answered, “One less than when you asked me yesterday. Now, why don’t you go find something to do and keep yourself busy.”

If I kept bugging her, she would find something for me to do. “OK, Mom, I think I’ll take a walk. I’ll be back in a little while.”

I decided to walk downtown and look in the windows of the stores. We live in a little town in Southern New Jersey called Maple Shade. And all the stores are decorated for Christmas. We even have a Christmas parade. And Santa Clause takes a ride all over town in the fire truck. And he throws candy to all the kids lined up on the sidewalks. All my friends and I walked down the pike on Main Street to see it yesterday. We had such fun. It was cold outside, so we all wore our winter coats, hats, gloves, and snow boots. Because the day before yesterday, we got over a foot of snow.

As I walked down the street, I noticed that the repair shop had a TV in the window, and it was playing It’s A Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. I’ve seen this story before, but all the same, I stand there and watch it for quite a while. Of course, I can’t hear the sound, but I know most of the dialogue anyway since I’ve seen it so many times. I decided to walk down to the Five & Dime Store to look at all the cool toys in the window. I asked Santa for a Barbie doll. I hope I get one.

The Christmas Lights along Main Street are beautiful. Of course, they look better when it’s dark out. The volunteer firemen drove up and down Main Street in their Fire Trucks and put up the lights and the Christmas Wreaths with big red bows on them the week before Thanksgiving. I watched them. The Rexall Drug Store is next to the Five & Dime Store. They have a display with a train set riding around on the train tracks, with little houses, churches, trees, and tiny little people walking around. There is even a little dog in the front yard of one of the little houses. At least, I think it’s a dog, but it’s hard to tell because it is so little. Above the houses, Santa is flying through the air with his reindeer, including Rudolph with his red nose. A little stream of smoke is coming out of the train engine’s smokestack. I wish we had one of those going around our tree.

I walk down to the bakery and look in their window. There are so many delicious-looking cakes in the window. My stomach starts growling loudly. My mother says I have a sweet tooth. I’m not sure what that means. But I do love candy and cake. I hope I get candy canes in my Christmas stockings and chocolate kisses with red and green foil wrapped around them. Oh, how I would love to have an éclair too. My mother is making a cake for Christmas. She is an excellent baker. I hope she makes a vanilla cake with shredded coconut on it. I do love coconut. I almost forgot that my mother makes a giant tin of Christmas cookies every Christmas. She puts the cookie dough in a cookie press, squeezes out these cookies in various shapes, and puts different colored sprinkles on them. I always find where she hides the cookie tin in the cellar, and I eat a whole bunch before Christmas.

Walking down Main Street, I see a police car approaching me. The car pulls over, and I hear the policeman calling my name and saying, “Merry Christmas, Susie.”

I walk over to the curb and see it is Mr. Lombardi, our next-door neighbor. He is a policeman in our town. “Merry Christmas, Officer Lombardi,” I scream at the top. And then he waves again and drives away.

I continue walking down the street, and I see a couple of kids from school. I hear them yelling, “Hey Susie, do you want to go and play behind the church?”

“Sure,” I say. When I caught up with them, I saw that they were my friends Helen and Ann Marie.

“What were you up to, Susie?”

“Nothing, just walking downtown and looking in all the store windows. What do you guys want to do?’

“We were just going behind the church and seeing who is playing in the snow. Are you getting anything good for Christmas, Susie?”

“I don’t know what I’ll get, but I asked for a Barbie doll and art supplies. How about you guys? What did you ask for Christmas?”

“I ask for two games, Operation and Twister. I love games, said Ann Marie. “

“I ask for an Easy-Bake oven. said Helen.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

We rounded the corner at Main Street and Fellowship Road, and I said, “Let’s have a race to the pump house behind the church. Ready, set, go.”

And we all ran as fast as we could. And at the last minute, I slipped on an icy spot and fell flat on my back. Ann Marie and Helen approached me and said,” Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I manage to say, even though the wind knocked me out.

“Ok, then I bet I can beat you to the pump house Helen yells.” And before I even got up from the icy sidewalk, they ran to the pump house at top speed. I scramble up and start running as fast as I can. I was about to catch up with them when I heard them yelling, “We beat you; we beat you.”

All the same, I kept running, and before you knew it, I was scrambling up the side of the pump tower to the top along with them. There were many kids from Our Lady of Perpetual Help school and some of the public-school kids. And they were climbing hills of snow and sledding across the parking lot. We laughed hard, and the air was so cold I could hardly breathe. I don’t know how long I stayed out there. But I knew by the time I heard my mother yelling, “Susie, it’s time to come home. It was starting to get dark outside. What a day it was, what a day!

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A JOURNEY OF A THOUSAND MILES BEGINS WITH A SINGLE MISSTEP

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The year I celebrated my twenty-first birthday, I had big plans. No, it’s not what you’re thinking I didn’t go out and get drunk. I didn’t get laid for the first time. I decided that a coming of age journey was in order. No, it wasn’t a remake of Thelma and Louise. Although, considering how it turned out maybe I should have brought Louise with me. Well, I don’t know anybody named Louise, but I do know a Helen, a Joan or Brenda that would have loved to come along.

But you know that’s not my style. I decided that I would go it alone. Why you may ask?  Well, because of all the things I feared, and the list is long, getting lost is at the top of the list.  And running a close second is public speaking and wearing a bikini at the beach.

The Auto Train by Engin Akyurt-Pixabay

I made a list of all the things that I wanted to do once I was a legal adult. I wanted to get up at dawn every day and see the sunrise. I wanted to dye my hair blond. Embrace each day with renewed energy and a positive vibe, no more negativity. I would learn how to parallel park, learn a new language. I was considering Chinese, it would be more of a challenge. Maybe I could learn to write it as well. I’ve always been good at languages. Remember, how good I was at Pig Latin when I was a kid.

Well, I could go on and on, perhaps I should stop prevaricating and get to the point. I had planned the whole trip. Oh, this was decades before the I Phone and Google Maps. I had purchased maps of the East Coast from New Jersey to Florida. I decided I would take the Auto Train. I would have to drive from South Jersey to Lorton, Virginia. Barring unforeseen circumstances and according to my calculations, it was a two hour and forty-minute drive to drive one hundred- and seventy-five-mile drive from my home in South Jersey to Lorton, Virginia.

And then I would board the train and go from Virginia to Sanford, Florida and then drive to West Palm Beach. It was a twenty-four-hour ride on the train.

And believe it or not, I arrived at Lorton, Virginia auto-train with time to spare. Even I was amazed since I had never taken a longer trip than going to Atlantic City about an hour from my parents’ house without getting lost. And I did not have to make a single U-Turn. I kid you not. Since I arrived early, my car was the first one to be loaded onto the train. Of course, what I failed to consider was that would mean my car would be the last one to get off the train in Sanford, Florida.

I watched as my beloved 1970 Volkswagen Beetle was loaded onto the train. I must admit I was somewhat nervous about it. I loved that car; it was my first car. I had purchased it on my own, with money that I earned while working my first real job. I loved that car so much that every morning I got up an hour early to wash it. It was lemon yellow with automatic stick shift. I loved it like it was my first-born child.

After waiting on a bench in Virginia’s August sizzling heat for well over an hour, I was allowed to board the train. I was drenched in sweat. I had my somewhat damp ticket in hand. The Conductor directed me to the box car. As I got onto the train, I realized that most of the passengers that were boarding were families with multiple children, some still in diapers. This was somewhat concerning since I knew we would be driving for twenty-four hours, which meant that at least eight hours of the drive would be overnight. Overnight with a large population of children under the age of five. I could see that this might cause some sleep problems. It turns out that crying babies would be the least of my problems.

As I boarded, the train trip got off to a rocky start. I tripped going up the steps and fell right into the passenger in head of me.  And I might add not very gracefully. I attempted to pull myself up using his leg, mistake number one. Inadvertently, his pants came down around his ankles. And to add insult to injury turns out this guy goes commando.

I was so shocked at the turn of events, I started talking gibberish, or maybe it was pig Latin. It’s kind of a blur now because his reaction was well, a little over the top, in my opinion.

As he yanked up his pants, you know the velvet kind with an elasticized waistband he let loose with a string of expletives that would make Genghis Kahn blush. The last thing he said was, “You better keep clear of me, you stupid bitch. If I see you again, I’m going to toss your fat ass off this train.” Well, I may be a little zaftig, but I’m not fat.

The line of people waiting to board the train behind me was beginning to back up. A couple of young guys grabbed my arms on either side and pulled me up. “Oh, thanks,” I mumbled and prayed I would never seen any of these people again. I had never been so simultaneously embarrassed and terrified at the same time.

I found a ladies room and stepped into a stall. I had myself a mini-breakdown. I may have shed a few tears and I was shaking like a leaf. I took some deep breaths and wiped my tears with toilet paper. When I  finished, I walked over to one of the sinks, and I gazed into the mirror. I realized that I had blood dripping down my face. I must have hit my lip or bit it when I fell. I splashed some cold water on my face and dried it off with a paper towel, the cheap kind that is brown and feels like sandpaper.

I decided that things could only get better from here on out since I couldn’t imagine anything worse happening. You see I was already putting the optimistic point of view into play.  I started to brush my hair but gave up on it as a lost cause.

I stepped out in the hall and looked for the boxcar that was listed on my ticket. It was a good thing that each car was marked because otherwise, I would have been lost as they all looked exactly the same to me.

I swayed from one end of the train to the other. The movement of the train was somewhat like walking on the deck of a boat in a rough sea. I found the right boxcar and sat down in my assigned seat with a deep sigh.

It turns out the seats were three across. So, it was going to be a tight fit. I shut my eyes and started doing some deep breathing. And I fell fast asleep probably from the shock and stress. I woke up abruptly, I looked around, unsure at first where I was. Something was banging on the back of my seat. I looked to my right there was an elderly man fast asleep on my shoulder, his drool was running down my sweaty arm. And to my left was a nursing mother. Who looked younger than I was. I was not in a good mood, I swore as loud as I could “I don’t know who is kicking my seat, but if you don’t stop, the shit is going to hit the fan.” I had never really cursed before, but I thought this occasion was a good time to start.

Unfortunately, I woke up both the drooling ancient man and the sleeping baby and mother. The baby let out a wail that would have raised Lazarus from the dead for a second time. Little Mama, well let’s just say if looks could kill, I would have been breathing my last breath.

“Hey Girlie, what’s all the racket about? Can’t you tell people are trying to sleep?” What’s all the racket about? Kids nowadays don’t have respect for their elders. I didn’t respond immediately because my attention is drawn to his lower lip, where a long string of drool is suspended. My stomach lurched. “Sorry, I was startled by somebody kicking my seat back. It’s been a long day.”

I decided that this would be a good time to go get something to eat. Hopefully, when I returned, everything would be copesetic again. Or at least everyone would have gone back to sleep. Since I’m working on being positive. I choose to believe this until reality smacks me in the face with the truth.

I meander down through one compartment after another. And then I hear before I see what I think must be the diner compartment. I stick my head in the doorway. And low and behold there looks like there is a party going on. It is loud, way past noisy. There is a yellow haze. It could be cigarette smoke, but most likely pot—smoking with one hand and drinks in the other. And now, we are talking; this is the type of experience I have been looking forward to.

I push my way through the crowd and find a seat at the bar. “Hey bartender, can I get something to eat here. My stomach thinks I cut my own throat?” He takes one look at me and asks for my ID. I take it out of my back pocket and hand it over to him. He is a scary-looking dude; he has a scar running the length of his face from his hairline down. I shutter to think how that happened. There is a tear tattooed underneath his right eye. Half his mustache is missing. I don’t even want to know the significance of that. He looks at me; he looks at the ID. “Ok, close enough, we have hamburgers and French fries, the first beer is on the house.”

“Awesome, well-done, please.”

“Well done, you’ll be lucky if it ain’t still mooing, honey.”

My eye starts twitching a little. I look around the room. My first thought was maybe I’m still sleeping because this looks like a bar scene from Casablanca. Would that make me Ilsa? I look around for my Rick. Unfortunately, I don’t see him, but maybe he is in the men’s room. The only thing missing here is the designer gowns and the tuxedos. I guess this is the poor man’s version.

My hamburger arrives, my mouth is watering; this is the first thing I’ve had to eat all day. It’s not that bad, and the French fries are just the way I like them salty and crisp.

At that moment, I feel someone’s hand grasp my shoulder. I look up, and who do I see, Pants Guy, or should I say no pants guy. I gulp down the last bite of my hamburger whole and almost choke. I grab my free beer and swallow. His grip is getting tighter. He is leering down at me. But not in a good way, if you know what I mean.

My breathing is becoming irregular, in short gasps. I’m hyperventilating. I try to slow my breathing down. And then it comes to me, go completely limp. he is so surprised that he lets go of my shoulder. I drop like a lead balloon,  I hit the ground. And before he knows what is happening, I‘m up and running and out the door.

I run through several boxcars. The constant swaying of the boxcars is making me feel nauseous. I hear a voice in the distance, yelling.” You wait until I catch up with you. I’m going to make you regret the day you were born.” And then a roaring sound, I’m not sure if that was him, or my intestines.

I hear music, I follow it. I see an open boxcar. And propel my body through the entrance.  It’s another bar or a cabaret. I’m not sure.  There is the sweet smell of pot and many voices talking at once. I can’t see clearly because of the smoke. I give a silent prayer of thanks for the smoke. If I can’t see anyone, then neither can the Neanderthal that is chasing me.

Someone grabs my arm and pulls me in. The next thing I know, I’m dancing with a guy with Do Wop hair. You know the greasy hair that swoops on across the forehead and down over one eye. He is wearing tight jeans and a cowboy shirt with fringe. I go with it. Better than doing the Last Tango in Paris with No Pants Guy. He pulls me in tight. I press my face against his chest. I’m thinking, safe at last, and then Do Wop swirls me out expectantly, and I let out a yelp. Then he yanks me not very gently back into his chest. And that, unfortunately, is when my intestines and I say adieu to the very rare hamburger and the warm beer. I projectile vomit across the floor and all over Do Wop.

It turns out Do Wop is a sympathetic vomiter. And it seems as if he has had a great deal to eat prior to coming to this bar. Apparently, he had Mexican food, unfortunately, for me and everyone behind me. And to add insult to injury, this set off a chain reaction of vomiting across the room. The smell alone was overwhelming, and then people started slipping and sliding all over the place. And that’s all she wrote as they say. The party was over.

As I crawl across the slimy and disgusting floor, I see No Pants Guy. I lay flat on the floor and hope for the best. He backs out of the room. No doubt blown back by the sheer stink of it all. I take a deep breath, and then immediately regret it.

As I rise, I consider throwing myself off the train and just hoping for the best. I crawl out into the passageway and look one way and then the other. I don’t see hide nor hair of my nemesis. I slip and slide until I see a lady’s room sign and shove open the door. I look right and left, and it is all clear. I enter somewhat trepidatiously.

As I once again gaze into the mirror, I realize I have reached a new level of looking like shit. A rare accomplishment for the first day of my twenty-first year. I congratulate myself. I turn on the cold water tap and splash lukewarm water onto my face. The water has a weird metallic smell. I wonder, where is this water coming from? The train isn’t connected to water lines. It must be stored in tanks under the train or something. This thought leads to another less savory thought where does all the shit and piss go? Do they flush it out the last boxcar? Do they store it until they arrive at the final destination? It is at this point in my stream of consciousness; I realize that my thoughts have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I cup my hands and throw the water into my mouth and rinse and spit. I‘m convinced I’ll never get the disgusting taste out of my mouth.

I stick my head out of the bathroom door; I think I see a kangaroo. I’m thoroughly exhausted. I believe I must be hallucinating.  My mind rejects the vision. So, I continue walking out the door and towards what I believe isn’t real. I shake my head and reach out to touch it. And that’s when I realize that this isn’t a vision but real. The kangaroo pulls back his arm and then strikes me in the chest I stagger backward a couple of feet. I’m momentarily so flabbergasted that I can’t catch my breath.

Imaginary or not, that thing can punch like Mike Tyson. I run in the other direction. Perhaps I inhaled so much pot fumes and that it was indeed imaginary. Or none of this is happening. And I’m fast asleep and dreaming, between drooling old man and nursing mother. I pray for the second option.

I decide that I’m going to head back to my boxcar and squeeze into my seat and not rise again until we reach Sanford, Florida. As I head back toward my destination, I fantasize lying on the beach and catching some rays and drinking a Margarita with a tanned and toned surfer dude. I convince myself that this is still possible. I just have to get back into my assigned seat and keep a low profile until we reach our destination. We will probably reach it in about fourteen hours. Meanwhile, I can catch some Zzzz’s.

I double-time it back to my boxcar.  Hopefully, there won’t be any further excitement or altercations. This day seems like the longest day of my life. I arrive at my boxcar and look in, fearing at first that my nemesis will somehow have found out where I was sitting and lie in wait for me. Luckily, this was just paranoia at work. And no one was waiting for me.

I walk down the aisle. I see what appears to be two empty seats where I was sitting earlier. I arrive and look down at the seats, and I see that drooling man is now slumping over into my seat. I fear the worse that he is dead and decomposing. I look at nursing mother is curled around her baby and sound asleep. Thank god for small favors.

I consider trying to clandestinely make a loud noise and wake him up. Nope, that would wake up the mother, and even worse the infant.

And so, I gently shove him over into his own space. I grasp his sleeve and push him ever so gently. It works except he is now slumped over onto the mother. I consider this; it works for me. I plop down quietly and immediately fall into a fretful sleep.

I wake up abruptly to a high-pitched screaming. My eyes pop open, I fear for the worse. Was it the kangaroo or No Pants Dude? Will this nightmare never end?

I look to the sound of the ungodly noise and it is the infant. It has awakened and is now bawling like there is no tomorrow. “Dear god, what is it? Why is it screaming, is it in pain? Please make it stop.”

“Sorry, he is just hungry or needs his diaper changed. I will have to take him to the lady’s room. They have a changing table in there. If you could just get up for a moment, I would appreciate it.”

As she gets up with her infant in tow, the old man slumps further into the other seat. My god, but he is a deep sleeper. I attempt to pull him up. He is like a sack of potatoes. He still doesn’t awaken, great I think. And I close my eyes and am out like a light in short order.

I am awakened by someone tugging at my sleeve. I mutter,” for the love of all that is holy, would you please leave me alone.”

“Sorry, but could you please let me in my seat again. I have to feed my baby, or he will start crying again.”

“Yeah, ok, ok.” When I get up, the old man falls right back into my seat. “What’s wrong with this guy anyway, nothing wakes him up?”

The mother touches the old man’s face and then grabs his wrist and holds it for a minute. “Shit,” she screams, this guy is dead. I was wondering why he slept so long. We will have to call the conductor or somebody in charge.”

She pulls the cord next to her seat. It says emergency only. Well, this certainly qualifies as an emergency to me. There is a loud squealing noise, and then a lurch as the train grinds to an abrupt stop. Everybody wakes up, some start screaming, mostly kids but quite a few burly young men.

By the time the train comes to a complete stop, everyone has calmed down. There is an announcement over the intercom that everyone should remain seated until they are told otherwise. About fifteen minutes pass by, and then two EMTs and a police officer come on board.

When they arrive in the boxcar, I start feeling a little sick to my stomach. I hope I won’t start throwing up again. I look up to see the police officer standing over me. “Alright, ladies, can you describe to me what has occurred here.

Well, I just came back to the boxcar, and I couldn’t sit down because he was slumped over into my seat. When I moved him, he just sort of plopped into his seat. Like a dead weight. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say it that way. It was such a shock. I’ve never seen a dead body before. And to tell you the truth, it has been a tough day for me. Oh, sorry.”

“And you miss?

“Well, I thought he was asleep for most of the trip. He didn’t really say anything to me at all. I was taking care of my baby, and as she said, it has been a really long day.”

“Do you two young ladies know each other? What is your relationship?”

Simultaneously, we both said, “No, I never ever talked to her. I never met her before. I don’t know her.”

The policeman said, “ok, you two will have to make a written statement before we leave. And at some time in the future, you may have to testify.”

I looked over at nursing mother. She looks like she is going to start crying. Which made me start crying. And before you knew it, we were both crying—a perfect end to a perfect day.

After they took the body out, she and I look at each other, and then we hug. I am not much of a hugger, but somehow it did make me feel better after that. “My name is Susan, and you are?”

“Well, this has been some trip and a weird way to meet somebody, my name is Joanne. And this is my baby Gerald. He’s four months old. We are on our way to see his grandparents in West Palm Beach.  God, what a day.

After that, we just sat back in our seats and didn’t say another word. I mean, what more can you say after somebody you didn’t know or even talk to dies in the seat next to you. I wonder what kind of lesson I was learning about being an adult from this experience. I still don’t know.

A police woman came in and told the two of us that we were going to have to move to other seats in a different boxcar. While the police look over the scene. I don’t know what they were looking for? Drool maybe? Sorry, I know that’s not funny, but what can I say. I can be a real jerk sometimes.

After I was told where my new seat was, I found my way without any difficulty. Maybe I was developing a sense of direction. Who knows. The new boxcar and seat look exactly the same sans nursing mother, I mean Joanne and her baby and the old man. Oh, there I go being a jerk again.

The next few hours of the trip passed without any further incidence probably because I never moved out of the seat. I just stared out the window as the sky gradually went from inky black to gray. And then I watched as the sun rose and moved higher into the sky. I notice that the trees changed from Maples and Oak to Palm Trees.  The sunrise in Florida is so beautiful it takes your breath away. The sun slowly rises and highlights the blues and pinks with gold. I will always remember that more than anything else I experienced on that trip. Because well, it was a new day and a new beginning for me.

When we arrive in Sanford, I start getting nervous about getting off the train. I was so afraid I might run into No Pants guy. I step down out of the train along with a hundred other people. It had only been twenty-four that’s for sure. I sit on a bench in the morning sun, and I think, holy crap it feels like I stepped into an oven. The heat and humidity are unbelievable. You just can’t believe how hot it is in Florida until you experience it. I was going to have to wait a long time for my car because it was the first one that was boarded. I keep on the lookout for No Pants Guy. I thought I was in the clear but all of a sudden, he burst out of the boxcar about thirty feet away . but I feel like a different person.

“ What the hell?” I am so startled that I stand up quickly and was about to start running. But then from the bowels of the boxcar, something jumps out and lands within three feet of No Pants Guy. It’s the kangaroo, unbelievable. I just stand there transfixed.

No Pants Guy takes off like a bat out of hell. And the kangaroo takes a giant leap. Before you could bat an eye he kicks No Pants Guy where the sun don’t shine. And that is all she wrote, my friend. Welcome to Florida.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

And The Winner Is

2 Replies

It’s early Saturday morning and my doorbell rings four times. Before I can answer the door, they knock several times using my new brass doorknocker, two Eskimos rubbing noses. I found it in an antique store in Philadelphia called Antiques R Us. I know that’s tacky but they have some really cool stuff in there.

I trip over my cat Sloopy in my rush to get to the door. Sloopy is trying to escape. He’s terrified of both the doorbell and knocking at the door. I step up to the door out of breath and a bit worse for wear. I see a UPS man standing there. He has his middle finger pressed firmly against the doorbell.

I flash him the universal signal for knock it off, a hand across the throat through the window in the door. I fumble around looking for the key to the front door. It’s in the top drawer of the desk next to the door.

I yank the door so energetically that I nearly rip the door off the hinges. “Hey, you can stop ringing the doorbell. What in god’s name is your problem? Couldn’t you just toss the package on the porch like you usually do?”

The man sneers at me. You probably don’t really know what that means until somebody actually directs that look at you. “I haven’t got all day lady. Can you please sign this?”

He hands me the electronic signature thingy. I sign it. My signature looks like Sanskrit or something. He thrust a heavy white envelope into my hand. He does an about-face and walks down the sidewalk and propels himself into his truck. He pulls out without even checking for traffic coming in his direction. Maniac.

I close the door and look at the envelope. I don’t recognize the return address. It looks like a wedding invitation. Good god, almighty is it possible that I’m being invited to yet another of my college friends’ second-time-around weddings? This will make the sixth one in two years. I don’t think anyone should expect their friends to go to another wedding and give another expensive gift for a marriage that probably won’t last until the second anniversary.

I tear open the envelope. Surprise it isn’t a wedding invitation. It’s an invitation to a Scavenger Hunt. Seriously a Scavenger Hunt, who am I Katherine Heyburn? Where’s my Cary Grant? I look at the invitation for the who, what, and where of it all. It’s from a mysterious someone who is an associate of my investment broker Bill Holden. It’s scheduled for December 31st, 2019 in New York City, from 8 pm until midnight.

Are they kidding New Year’s Eve in New York City? I throw the invitation down on the coffee table. I walk back to the kitchen to finish eating my now soggy Captain Crunch cereal. I sip my lukewarm tea.

I idly tap my spoon against the table. I imagine myself dressed to kill, wearing my to-die-for black fur-lined cape. It has a hand-embroidered trim with golden bumblebees. I haven’t really had an opportunity to wear it yet. New Year’s Eve would be the perfect occasion to make its debut.

Well, why not? It could be a wonderful adventure. I’ll use the limo service the invitation listed. I can drink champagne and eat caviar. Well, maybe not caviar. I hate it but definitely drink champagne.

I walk back to the living room and pick up the invitation and take it back into the kitchen with me. I read it over several times. There’s a contact email to RSVP. That’s kind of odd, but it’s the digital age. I walk over to my computer and boot it up. and send my RSVP to the email address.

I’m busy all day Saturday doing errands. I had to take some of my business suits to the dry cleaners and then I have my nails done and highlights added to my hair. I really want to make a good impression on New Year’s Eve. It’s only ten days away. I stop by on my way home to visit my mother. She lives about fifteen minutes from my house in an over fifty-community.

I knock at the door and my mother answers out of breath. “Santina, you nearly scared me to death coming to the door this early morning.”

“Mother it’s two in the afternoon. You must have slept in this morning.”

My mother has a very close relationship with Vodka Martinis. She likes to throw back a few every evening as she watches some man-hating movie on the LMN Channel. She just hasn’t been the same since my father ditched her and married his dental assistant seven years ago. She swears she wouldn’t have been as bitter if the woman had at least been a younger woman and not someone the same age. Somehow, I doubt that would have made that much difference.

“Can I come in mother?”

“Of course, who said you couldn’t?”

I follow my mother through the foyer and the pristine, never used, formal living room into the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Santina?”

“No thank you Mother, but if you have tea that would be great.” My mother refuses to acknowledge that I never drink coffee. It’s just another of her odd little quirks. “Mother guess what?”

Before I can continue, she says, “Santina, I’ve told you time and again that I don’t like guessing games. How in the world would I be able to guess?”

“Mother it’s only a figure of speech. I didn’t really expect you to guess. I was invited to a New Years’ Eve Scavenger Hunt in New York City, isn’t that exciting?”

“New York City, oh I don’t know Santina. That sounds dangerous. Who are you going with? Who is hosting this scavenger hunt?”

“I’m going by myself. I’ve rented a limo to take me there and drive me around. It will be perfectly safe.”

“You didn’t answer me about who invited you?”

“A friend of Bill Holden, my investments broker.”

“How long have you known him Santina?”

I hesitate for a moment and say, “oh I met him six months ago Mother. He’s very well known in the business community.” A bald-faced lie, but I was not about to tell my mother I never met the man.

“Oh well then that seems safe enough, but be aware that there are a lot of crazy people out there on New Year’s Eve in New York City looking for people to take advantage.”

“I know Mother. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Well, I better get going I have a lot of things to do this weekend. I have a busy workweek ahead of me. I’ll see you later Mom. I’ll give you a call during the week.”

“What? You just got here. Why are you always in a rush to leave Santina? I didn’t even make you your tea.”

I stand up and awkwardly hug my mother. “Never mind Mother I wasn’t really that thirsty.” I head back to the front door and into my SAAB. Somehow my visits with my mother are always brief. I love her, but I just don’t enjoy spending time with her. It’s a shame, but that’s just the way it is with us.

The next week flies by before you know it; it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m dressed to kill.  Even if I do say so myself, I look stunning in my sequined gold vintage Valentino umpire dress. I picked it up for a song in an out-of-the-way shop on South Street in Philadelphia. My cape swirls around me with my every move.

The limo arrives right on time and the chauffeur comes to my door. He’s a handsome man with jet-black hair and a mustache. If that isn’t enough, he has a Middle Eastern accent that’s sexy as hell. When I open the door, I do it with a flourish. He greets me, “Are you, Madam Ferraro?”

“Yes, yes, I am, and you are?”

“My name is Amir Bashara, I am at your service.”

He looks like he could be a sheik, my heart starts pounding and my imagination goes into overdrive. I force myself to calm down. “Yes Amir, here is the list of destinations for the evening. I’m ready to go. I reach over and grab my purse and my digital camera. I follow him out to the limo. It’s gleaming in the light cast by a nearby streetlight. I feel like Cinderella on her way to the ball.

Amir opens the back door and says in his deep, melodic voice, “everything is as you have requested Madam, let me know if I can be of service in any way. There is an intercom in the back should you need anything at all.”

I sit down on the doe soft leather of the back seat. Six people could sit here comfortably. I see a discreet black refrigerator; within it are the chilled champagne I requested and a platter of horderves. I adjust my cape that had become twisted around my legs when I stepped inside the car. Capes are a thing of beauty but not really practical, like many things in life. I stare momentarily at Amir’s profile and dream of a thousand Arabia nights. I let my imagination visit there for a while.

I consider my coming evening. I think about my quest, the places I will visit, and the treasures I must capture. The instructions in the email I received said I must visit the 42nd and Broadway Theater and either take a picture of the theater where the musical Chicago is playing or somehow get a ticket stub for it.

The next goal is to stop in at the Pego Club and have one of their famous cocktails and take the glass. The third stop is the Ice-Skating Rink at Rockefeller Square. I must capture a picture of the Skaters in motion. The final goal is to visit the observatory at the top of the Empire State Building. Where I will meet up with my fellow scavenger hunters and find out who they are. And who is this mysterious person who invited me on this wonderful adventure?

New York City

Photograph by David Mark-Pixabay

The evening passes quickly, and the crisp air in the city is almost electric with excitement. People are walking up and down the streets in glamorous tuxedos and sparkling dresses. I arrive at the theater and see the sign for Chicago. “Amir, could you stop here and let me out? Could you drive around the block and then pick me up in front of the theater? It shouldn’t take me long.”

“Yes of course Madam, would you like me to accompany you?”

“What? No, that’s not necessary, but thank you very much for the offer. I’ll be fine. This won’t take me more than a few moments. I step out of the car and onto the street. It’s unbelievable how crowded the theater district is. There are actors walking around in costumes from some of the shows that are playing in the theaters. I walk up to the theater playing Chicago and take several quick shots of the Marquee and the people milling about. I look around on the ground for a ticket that someone might have dropped. It’s difficult to see because of the constantly moving feet of the people around me. I hear a deep and familiar voice say. “Madam is this what you are looking for?”

I look up at Amir standing there, looking like Aladdin. “Oh, Amir that’s very kind of you but unnecessary. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. ”

“I have no doubt Madam, but such a beautiful woman as yourself should have company in this great city of New York.”

I look at him closely. I hope he isn’t some kind of stalker. I don’t see crazy in his eyes, but you never know. He hands me a ticket. It’s a stub for Chicago musical. “Wow thank you very much, Amir. I guess we can be on our way.”

“Follow me madam the car is right over here.”

Somehow, he found a parking spot right in front of the theater. He opens the door for me. I step in like Cinderella into the pumpkin carriage.

It doesn’t take very long to arrive at the Pego Club. There’s a long line of people waiting to go inside. I wonder how I will be able to go in and get a cocktail and grab the glass. And still, have time for the other two destinations.

“Madam if you would allow me to step out for a moment I will see if I can arrange for you to enter more quickly?”

“Really, why that would be wonderful. Otherwise, I think I will be waiting in line all night.”

Amir pulls the limo into a spot that miraculously appears in front of us. I look at his mysterious eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s looking back at me. I look down quickly embarrassed to be caught looking at his handsome face. He steps out of the car and disappears into the crowd. The car seems suddenly empty and missing some essential energy. He returns in a few moments and taps on my window. “Madam, I have arranged for us to go in long enough for a drink.”

Us, did he say us? He takes off his cap and puts it in the passenger side of the front seat. I realize for the first time how tall he is and that he’s wearing a very expensive suit that fits him like it was tailored for him. “Oh of course.” I stammer and somehow get out of the car gracefully. My cape flows out behind me like the train on a wedding dress. He offers me his hand as I step out onto the sidewalk. I feel a surge of electricity flow between us. I think I really shouldn’t have drunk that entire carafe of champagne.

I can’t help but notice that the crowd seems to make a path for us to the door. The bouncer lets us walk right in. There’s a low buzz of people talking in the background. A wonderful aroma of incense or perfume is in the air. It reinforces the feeling that I’m walking into a dream. Amir finds a space at the crowded bar and orders. He hands me my cocktail and drinks something dark and golden. After I finish my drink Amir hands me a bag.

“This is for your glass Madam.”

“Amir please call me Santina. I would appreciate it.”

“Madam, I mean Santina that’s a beautiful name. It fits you. Sorry I shouldn’t make such a personal comment.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t really look like he is embarrassed. I’m at a loss for how I should act since I have never been in a situation like this before. “Oh, that’s fine thank you very much. I guess we should be on our way.”

“Of course, let’s be off to the skating rink, I’ve only been there once as a little girl. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it very much.”

The next thing I know we glide up to Rockefeller Center. It’s very crowded. Apparently, everyone wants to skate on the small rink on this beautiful New Year’s Eve.

“Santina would you like to skate on the rink? I can arrange it for you if you wish?”

“What? Oh no, another time would be wonderful. I’m really not dressed for skating, thank you.”

“As you wish. If you would like I will take a picture of you, next to the rink. Then we can be off to the final destination of the Empire State Building observatory.”

We arrive at the Empire State Building at quarter to Twelve.  We are parked at the Fifth Avenue entrance. The street is a wonderland glowing with magnificent Christmas lights and gold and silver decorations.

As we exit the car, I see there are snowflakes beginning to fall. It really seems like a wonderful dream. Amir takes my hand as I get out of the car. I forget that he is my limousine driver. I feel like a princess whose hand is being held by her prince, her Arabian prince. I allow myself to be lost for this moment in this fantasy. We walk into the lobby. It’s an amazing combination of beautiful lights and soft music from a Quartet playing in the background.

“Santina, the elevator is this way.” He escorts me to what looks like a private elevator.

“Amir this can’t be the public elevator. This looks like a private elevator.”

“Santina, it’s alright we can go this way. It has all been arranged for you.”

For me? I wonder what he means by that.  Oh, he must mean for the scavenger hunt group. The elevator arrives at the observatory in what seems like a twinkling of the eye. Amir takes my hand as I step out of the elevator. The view is unbelievably beautiful. The city of New York City is ablaze with lights in every direction. I’m awed by the vision before me.

We walk over to the far wall. Amir makes a sweeping gesture with his arms. I look in Amir’s eyes and he’s looking back into mine. He leans down toward me. All the fireworks and whistles and horns are blowing, fireworks can be seen in the distance. I hear “Happy New Year Santina. It’s all for you. You have only to reach out and take it.”

The Gift

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By Susan Culver

Jack opens his eyes, blinking at the morning sun streaming through the vertical blinds. Then he remembers today is his tenth birthday. The package from his Uncle Pat is supposed to arrive in the mail. He can hardly wait another minute. He jumps out of bed and throws his clothes on and runs down the steps to the kitchen. Every year his Uncle sends him something wonderful and unique. Last year he sent him a telescope, not a toy telescope but a professional one. It was a Meade StarNavigator. It opened up a new world to Jack. The first time he looked through the scope, he couldn’t believe what lay before his eyes.

The inky night sky is filled with precious gems waiting to be discovered. Every night after Jack finishes his homework, he goes out to the back deck and studies the sky.  On his last birthday, his mom and dad gave him a book on Navigating by the stars. Jack has read the book five times since then and memorized the star map. Now he can recognize each constellation regardless of the time of year.  He never tires of it. Sometimes he sneaks out of his bed early in the morning and looks at the moon that hasn’t retired for the day yet. It makes him feel so small and yet big at the same time.

“Well, good morning Jack, happy birthday.” Says his father from behind the New York Times.

“Thank you, Dad. Did it come yet? Did it come yet?”

“Did what come yet, Jack?”

” Oh, Steven, don’t tease him. You know very well what he’s talking about.”

“Yes, it came Jack. It’s on the hall table next to the door. Why don’t you go and get it? We’ll open it together.”

Jack finds a large package on the table and carries it with some difficulty to the kitchen. He carries the package as if it’s made of glass. For all, he knows, it is. Perhaps it’s a crystal ball that can tell the future or a geode that has fallen from one of those distant stars in the sky that he knows and loves so well. His Uncle Pat is in the military and travels all over the world. So, you never know what treasure he might find.

Jack’s heart is pounding so hard he feels it might burst. But he keeps a slow and steady pace as he carries his prize to the kitchen. “Here it is, Mom, here it is.”

“I see that Jack, bring it over to the table, and let’s see what your Uncle has sent you this year.”

As his mother carefully opens the package, Jack, holds his breath. She takes off the brown wrapping paper so slowly it’s excruciating. “Breathe, Jack ,breathe.” His father says and laughs.

A box is inside. Jack looks down at it. There’s a picture of a sailboat on the top of the box. The box bears the legend Thunder Tiger Yacht. Jack gasp, “Oh, Mom, it’s a sailboat, oh how wonderful. It’s what I always wanted.”

His parents look at one another and laugh, “Oh Jack, you say that every year when you get Uncle Pat’s present. It does look like a beauty. Let’s open up the box and see how she looks.”

Jack carefully removes the top of the box and looks inside. The most beautiful boat is held there. His father comes over and looks at the boat. “Wow, she looks like a real yacht. My brother always wanted a boat like this. It looks like he’s living out his childhood dreams through you, Jack, lucky boy.”

“Can I take it out?”

“Of course, you can, Jack, it’s your boat. On Saturday, we’ll take her out to the Central Park for her maiden voyage. Until then, you’ll have to be satisfied with putting her together. It looks like you have to install the keels, rudder, and the mast and sails. The rudder is like a steering wheel. There are two sails, the mainsail and the jig sail that create more power in the wind. The mast is a pole that attaches to the sails one on either side. The keel is on the bottom of the boat and creates stability and prevents it from tipping over.

Jack spends the entire afternoon reading the instructions and putting the remaining parts on the boat. Each piece is carefully put into place as the manual instructed. When he finishes, it’s almost five feet tall. It’s magnificent. At dinnertime, Jack talks about the boat and how much he loves it. How beautiful it is with its pristine white sails with a flash of red across the mainsail to the jib. The Hull is emboldened by the name, Thunder Tiger across it in bold red letters.

After dinner, Jack goes out and studies the stars. He wonders what it would be like to sail a boat across the ocean to some exotic foreign land or perhaps discover an unknown or forgotten place. And perhaps discover wonderful treasures long forgotten? He looks into the starry night and imagines navigating the boat across the sea with only the stars to guide him on his journey.

Before he goes to bed, Jack sits down at his desk and writes his Uncle Pat a note. “Dear Uncle Pat, thank you so very much for the beautiful sailboat. I know I’ll have lots of fun with it. Dad says we can take it out on Saturday to Central Park for its maiden voyage. Love Jack.

Jack is so excited he has trouble falling asleep. He tosses and turns. He awakes early in the morning to a strange sensation. It feels like the room is swaying. His bed is rocking from side to side. He opens his eyes to see what time it is. He’s doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. He isn’t in his bedroom. Instead, he sees a room that’s paneled with beautiful dark wood. He’s lying on a hammock that is attached to the walls on either side. It’s a small room with what looks like a sink and cooking area. He sees a door, so he walks over to look through the doorway. The strange sense of the room swaying is even more apparent as the walks across the small room.

On the other side of the door is a very small bathroom with a standing shower.  He can’t make any sense out of it. He steps back and looks around again. He sees what appears to be a porthole.  He presses his face against the window, and to his utter amazement in the still somewhat dim light, he sees water, nothing but water.

But that can’t be right. He went to bed last night in his room. How in the world did he get here? Was he drugged and kidnapped? Did he suffer some kind of head injury, and lost his memory? He goes back into the little bathroom and turns the overhead light on and looks in the mirror. It’s him no older, no younger, and no different. Just what in the world has happened? He decides to go look around.

He finds what appears to be a hatch. He pushes it open and pulls himself up. He’s standing on the deck of a ship. It looks to be about thirty foot long. There is a mast with two sails, a mainsail, and a smaller jig sail. There’s a slash of red across the two sails. “Wait a minute, this is weird. It  looks like the model yacht that Uncle Pat sent me for my birthday. But that can’t be. That’s crazy. Unless I have somehow shrunk down to fit inside the model, no, that’s impossible.”

Jack walks all around the deck and examines each part of it, including the sails, the coiled ropes, and the controls for sailing the boat. He guesses everything he needs is here to sail the boat. But he can’t say for sure because he has never been on a boat before. Then he has a hopeful moment when it occurs to him that someone else might be on board. He calls out, “Hello, hello, is anyone here? Oh, please let someone else be here.”

No one answers, so he supposes he’s the only occupant. He looks out in every direction, but he sees nothing out there in the dim light to indicate where he is.

He decides to wait until the sun comes up, and maybe he can figure out where he is. The boat isn’t moving other than the subtle swaying from side to side. He sits and waits for the light to reveal where he is.

Jack’s stomach is beginning to growl, so he decides to go below and see if there’s anything to eat. He looks in the little refrigerator and finds milk and bread and cheese and some bologna. He makes a sandwich and drinks the milk right out of the carton. Almost immediately, he’s sorry he ate the sandwich. And he really regrets drinking the milk. He starts to feel nauseous and runs into the bathroom. He gets there just in time.

When he feels well enough again to start moving around, he goes back up on the deck. The sun is up, and in the distance,  he can see the Statue of Liberty and the skyline of New York. He’s on the Hudson River. He feels relieved that he isn’t in the middle of the ocean but still doesn’t know how he’ll sail this boat back to Battery Park. Where are his parents, and why would they let him go on a trip by himself in a sailboat? He decides to look in the cabin and look for some kind of instructions on how to sail the boat. He wonders if the reason he isn’t moving is because the anchor is in the water. As he walks towards the cabin, a wind starts to pick up.  And suddenly, the jib swings around and hits Jack hard in the head, and he’s knocked down.

The next thing he remembers is his mother leaning down over him, calling his name over, and over again, Jack wake up you’re having a bad dream. Wake up, Jack. He opens his eyes, and there’s his mother’s worried face looking down at him. “Mom, mom, I was so scared. Where were you and Dad? Why did you let me go on a sailboat all by myself?

“Jack, it was just a dream you weren’t in a sailboat. You were here in your room fast asleep. You just had a dream.”

“But Mom, I hit my head on the jib, and it still hurts. Right here.”

“Let me see Jack. Well, you do have a pretty big bruise there. You must have fallen out of bed during the night or bumped it going to the bathroom. I’ll get you some ice and aspirin. Everything is alright, Jack.”

Jack looks around his room, and there’s the Thunder Tiger sitting on his desk. Jack walks over to it and inspects it from stem to stern. The bottom of the boat is wet, and there’s water on the deck. Jack shakes his head and decides that he’ll keep his journey to himself. But just in case he’ll start learning how to sail a boat. The next time he takes a midnight journey into the night, he’ll be ready to navigate the boat as well as read the stars.